Heaven
by alien sex kitten
Summary: /"The exact same Pavel who apparently doesn’t agree with what Christopher has just said, as he decides to inform the other man quite smugly, 'You, Christopher, are not very smart. At all.'"/ SLASH. Pike/Chekov. Light FLUFF/SMUT. ONESHOT.


**Warnings :: OOC, like, srsly. SLASH. Very, very slight SMUT. Weird pairing. And some light FLUFF too. **

**A/N :: **Okay, so this originally started out with me just wanting to write Chekov pole dancing. And then it kind of just, ate my brain until this happened. And while it was originally going to be McCoy/Chekov, Pike just sort of popped up and pestered me until I changed it. I must say though, for being so, like, weird and stuff, it made me giggle. And I actually sorta like it. Huh. Who knew. ;)

I didn't know if this would really constitute an "M" rating, but I did it just in case. And sorry for not typing Chekov's accent. I love it, don't get me wrong, but I was too lazy to go back and change everything he said after I wrote it.

**Inspired by :: **Watching Spongebob for too many hours in a row. I'm not even kidding.

He can feel the cold metal of the pole sliding over his sweat slicked skin as he pushes himself up and against it with the ease born of someone who has obviously done this before.

Ghosting one hand lazily up his pale, glistening chest, he throws his head back and shakes his sweat dampened brunette curls out of his brilliantly blue eyes. His bare feet pad silently on the hard, painted floor as he hooks one long leg around the pole and spins downward slowly, hips moving to the sound of the music pulsing through the room. He throws his arms above his head and twirls his wrists as he steps away from the pole and begins to move even faster.

The sweat is pouring down his back and chest in rivulets now, and his limbs are aching; he's been at it for hours, but he can't stop now, he needs this, he's so close…

The cool hand that suddenly runs down his spine startles him, and he falters for a moment.

That split-second hesitation is apparently the only sign the owner of the hand needs, because the next thing he knows, he's being carried bridal style off the floor and outside into the warm San Francisco air that's still colder than the building he just exited, for which he is extremely grateful.

However, when he glances up to thank the man who has "saved" him, he feels his blood run cold and he immediately tenses, which the older man obviously notices, because the hands around his knees and chest tighten almost to the point of being painful.

Christopher Pike is not pleased.

CPPCCPPCCPPCCPPCCPPCCPPC.

The rest of the walk is made in a choking, cloying silence that has Pavel Chekov squirming in seconds, which only increases tenfold when he notices that Christopher is taking them to the older man's quarters.

They were soundproof.

Pavel gulps.

'_Shit.'_

Christopher, while usually a peaceful, calm, logical man, was not a force to be reckoned with when angry; something Pavel had learned through firsthand experience many a time.

He gulps again when he looks up and notices Christopher staring down at him with expressionless eyes as he is dropped unceremoniously onto the bed in the room he didn't even know they had arrived at.

The captain, now without a young Russian in his arms, begins to pace the room, walking with controlled, even steps that portray none of the anger Pavel could feel bubbling beneath the skin of the older man.

A few moments pass in silence, save for the shuffling of shoes on the carpeted floor and the breathing of the two men.

Finally, Pavel can't take it anymore, and he manages to say, "Christopher?" in a breathy tone, smothering the word in his thick Russian accent, and it's almost too much.

CPPCCPPCCPPCCPPCCPPCCPPC. (POV CHANGE! RAWRR.)

Christopher barely hears the word over his ragged breathing and the blood pounding in his ears, but he does, and he turns to look at his younger lover, opening his mouth to say something…

Until he actually **looks **at Pavel, and everything he was going to say rushes out of him in a quiet breath.

Pavel is sitting there, looking up at him with those giant baby blues from under sweat soaked curls, long, pale legs crossed on top of the bedcovers, skin glistening with the remnants of perspiration.

The whispered, "Chris…" also includes Pavel opening his arms in silent invitation, and with a deep sigh, Chris sinks down heavily onto the bed next to the Russian, grabs him and pulls him comfortably into his lap, burying his nose deep into the matted mass of curls on the boy's head.

"Christopher, I'm sorry."

The sad, apologetic tone of Pavel's voice sends an unwelcome pang through Chris' heart, and he tightens his hands around his young lover's waist and whispers back, "No, I'm sorry. I know you like what you do, but sometimes I just worry, because you're so young and beautiful, and I dread the day when you're going to wake up and realize how much better off you'd be without a grumpy old man like me."

**Shit. **Since when had he become such a fucking sap?

'_Since you met Pavel,'_ his mind whispers traitorously.

The exact same Pavel who apparently doesn't agree with what Christopher has just said, as he decides to inform the other man quite smugly, "You, Christopher, are not very smart. At all."

This causes Chris to rest his chin on Pavel's shoulder and cock an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

"Ohh?"

"You speak as though you are the only one who has doubts about this relationship. You don't think I don't go through everyday hoping that you won't realize how young and inexperienced I am, and how much I still have left to learn before I am even close to your level of experience? Besides, you are much better looking than me, so I do not understand what you are complaining about. At least you do not get mistaken for a 12 year old girl!"

Pavel ends his rant with crossed arms and a pout apparent on his adorable 17 year old face.

Chris couldn't have resisted the throaty chuckle even if he tried, which he admittedly didn't.

"Besides," the Russian continued, undeterred in his speech, "I only dance because I like it when you come "rescue" me. And I know you love it when I dance."

To say Chris is surprised would be a serious understatement.

"How did you know that? I'm quite sure I've never told you that."

Pavel scoffs and turns to face the man whose lap he still resided in.

"Please, Chris," he waves dismissively, "It's not hard to tell. You're pretty obvious."

And there went Chris' eyebrow again.

"I know that you love it when I move my hips," and he does just that, tiny little twitches against the older man's that drive Chris crazy, "And when I run my hands up and down the pole," those pale, graceful hands that grab at his shoulders and push Chris down onto his back so they can begin ghosting over his body, "And you know what your favorite part is?"

Chris doesn't even time to ponder the ridiculousness of that question because there's a whispered, (they were doing a lot of that tonight) "This," in his ear, and then warm lips are descending on his, asking for entrance from a soft, probing tongue that he's given before he realizes it.

When he's finally given the chance to breathe, the younger is looking down at him with amusement dancing in his blue eyes, and Chris has to ask.

"Do you do that every time you dance?" which causes Pavel to snort and reply with a wink, "That's not even the best part."

And then Pavel is gone from his sight, but there's a warm mouth around him and if he wasn't so horribly aroused he would be highly embarrassed by the deep groan that action rips from his throat.

But as it is, he doesn't care because now there's teeth and tongue and a beautifully wonderful suction, and the only thing he can do is grip tightly to the soft, curly hair sliding between his fingers and try not to lose his mind.

CPPCCPPCCPPCCPPCCPPCCPPC.

It's over very quickly, and now that he's sated and has his gorgeous Russian lover in his arms, he can feel himself flush in embarrassment as he realizes how swiftly he reached his limit.

Really, it didn't make much sense, as he should be happy that Pavel knows his body so well, but it still makes him flustered, regardless of the fact that he returned the favor.

"Christopher…"

The muttered voice catches his attention, and he replies with an equally muttered, "Hmm?"

"Stop thinking so much and go to sleep. Your injured pride will still be there in the morning."

It's so out of character for the young man that Chris has a, "That's no way to speak to a commanding officer, Cadet," out before he can think about it, which causes him to wince, because one of the unspoken rules of their relationship is to leave work out of it.

A sigh sounds through the room, heavy and exasperated and sounding like it belongs to someone much older than 17, before long fingers are threading themselves through the calloused ones that lay on Pavel's flat stomach.

"Christopher, don't worry about it. Go to sleep."

This time, there's no reply but Chris placing his forehead gently on Pavel's bare shoulder, and he allows himself a small smile as he succumbs to the allure of Dreamland.

END.

Hope you liked it. Drop me a line if you want, but if not, that's okay too. (:

(And in case anyone was curious, the title comes from the name of the song I was listening to while writing this, which is "Heaven" by I Monster. It has absolutely nothing to do with the plot of the story, but it is a very beautiful song, and one of my favorites.)


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